


Sure as Hell

by NamelesslyNightlock



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural (TV) Fusion, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Attraction, BAMF Loki (Marvel), Blood, Confused Tony Stark, Episode: s04e01 Lazarus Rising, First Meetings, God Loki (Marvel), Hopeful Ending, Horny Tony Stark, Hunter Tony Stark, Kissing, Knives, Loki (Marvel) is a Full-Tilt Diva, M/M, Magic, Nick Fury is Not Amused, Resurrection, Scared Tony Stark, Sexual Tension, Sort Of, Summoning, injured Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-20 18:14:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30008934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NamelesslyNightlock/pseuds/NamelesslyNightlock
Summary: Something pulled Tony from the grips of death. Something powerful, something that no one has ever seen before—and Tony’s sure as hell going to find out what.
Relationships: Loki/Tony Stark
Comments: 19
Kudos: 134





	Sure as Hell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rabentochter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rabentochter/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY SESIL!!! 🎉 I hope you have an amazing one, filled with many cups of coffee and the most marvellous banana pancakes. As the best of friends and wonderfulest of wives, you deserve only the most delightful of days ❤️❤️  
>   
> (And thanks a million to **AeonTheDimensionalGirl** who helped me make a couple of decisions in this!)

Tony was not meant to have woken up.

Admittedly, that wasn’t the _first_ thought he had when his eyes snapped open and he started breathing in stale as fuck air, but it was certainly near the top of the list. It wasn’t even that he wasn’t _glad_ to have opened his eyes, you know, it was just. Well.

He’d _died._

And he was pretty sure that kind of thing was meant to be somewhat permanent.

He certainly _did_ feel like he’d been to hell and back, though. His throat burned when he tried to call for help, and his hands near broke as he pounded on the wood above his face. Thankfully, whoever had buried him hadn’t cared enough to do it properly – probably Clint, that bastard – but breaking out of a coffin and crawling through three feet of soil still hurt like fuck.

He rose from the earth gasping, mouth full of dirt, fingernails bloody, blinded by the sun. It took a few moments of blinking before he could see, his eyes adjusting after so long—well, it wasn’t just that he’d spent so long in the dark, was it? His eyes had probably been rotting inside his skull, crawling with worms, turning to dust.

The thought was…

Yeah.

On the other hand, though—Tony didn’t even know how long he’d been out for. Though given the fact that grass had grown over his grave suggested longer than the average length nap.

The uncomfortable train of thought came screaming to a halt as he looked around, newly-adjusting eyes still squinting as he tried to make sense of what he saw. The area seemed to be a forest of some kind, but the trees all around him were knocked down, viciously and violently without a single one standing. He might have thought there’d been a hurricane, except… they hadn’t all fallen in the same direction. Rather than a storm, it looked like there had been an explosion _,_ Tony’s grave at the epicentre.

It was beyond odd. It was _unsettling._

Something very, _very_ wrong was happening. And he needed to find out what, before whatever it was came and bit him in the ass.

Once he had managed to get himself the rest of the way out of the ground, Tony quickly took stock of what he had on him. His clothes were remarkably intact, considering. In fact, _he_ was remarkably intact. He could remember the pain of claws tearing through his flesh, of blood slipping between his fingers, of the way he’d been able to _feel_ the sliminess of his—

_No._

Tony forced himself to focus, to begin to think on a plan. He had some money in his pockets, but not much—and no phone. He didn’t know where he was, or what had happened to him. Fuck, he didn’t even know what _year_ it was.

That didn’t mean he was helpless, however. He was Tony fucking Stark, one of the best hunters to have ever walked the Earth. He was going to be fine.

He’d go to someone he trusted, to see if they knew what had happened. Pepper or Rhodey were the first that sprang to mind, but he didn’t want to risk bringing a threat to their door if this was something sinister—and knowing his luck, it almost certainly was. The hunters he’d been running with when his time had run out, the group that fashioned themselves as the Avengers, were also out. They hadn’t even burned his body, for god’s sake. No.

There was only one place for him to go.

And as he managed to spot the tops of a few powerlines above the tree line, just visible due to the destruction which had emanated outward from his grave, Tony’s cracked and dirty lips curled into a determined smile.

—✩—

To be fair, Tony probably should have expected that Fury would shoot him.

Not even because it was more than likely that Fury had heard about his little foray to the other side—nah, Fury was just _like_ that.

“Fury, what the _fuck—”_

“What did you expect, Stark, a welcome home party?”

“You _shot_ me—”

“You came to my _house—”_

“I didn’t think I’d get through SHIELD’s security—”

“Stark, you’re not even meant to know about this place—”

“You’re seriously doubting my ability to find things out about people?” Tony arched a brow. “Fury, you’re good, but you’re not _that_ good.”

Fury’s single eye narrowed, his lips pressing together as he considered Tony with the kind of scrutiny that was capable of making even _Steve_ flinch. There was something hard behind his gaze, perhaps even something pained—but even as Tony watched, it was like a veil lifted, and Fury’s expression slackened.

“My god,” he said. “It really is you, isn’t it?”

Tony held out his hands, still stained red from the graze in his shoulder which Fury had already patched back up. _After_ he’d sprayed Tony with salt and holy water, of course. “If you want to check again, please, be my guest.”

Annoyingly, Fury actually _did_ check again—though Tony thought that was more because he enjoyed throwing a flask of holy water in his face than anything else.

Tony grimaced as he spat out a mouthful of the stuff. It tasted better than the dirt had, at least, but also somewhat… stale. As if it had been sitting in Fury’s cupboard for years.

Gross.

“What, you’re not going to check with a silver knife too?” he asked, trying not to be annoyed.

“No need.” Fury nodded at Tony’s grazed shoulder, his lips curling upward. “ _That_ was a silver bullet.”

Tony groaned. “Of course it was.”

“All right, Stark.” Thankfully, Fury’s tone had finally returned to something almost normal. “Enough chit chat. Tell me—how the hell are you still alive?”

“I’m not convinced ‘still’ is the right word,” Tony admitted. “How long did you say I’d been dead?”

“A few months. Barton told me you were shredded up something fierce.”

“Definitely one way of putting it.” Tony grimaced.

“Then something must have brought you back.” Fury turned away from Tony, a hand coming up and rubbing over his mouth. Then he leaned back against the kitchen counter, arms crossed as he stared over to where Tony was still sitting on the kitchen table.

It was almost odd, thinking of Fury having a _kitchen._ Too… mundane. Ever since Tony had known him, Fury had been the head of SHIELD, the Strategic Hunting Intelligence, Enforcement, and Logistics Division, an organisation which provided hunters with much needed coordination and support. At times, Tony felt like they could be a little dictatorial, but he’d never found it hard to go off grid—and there had been plenty of situations in the past that Tony never would have made it out of without Fury’s help. His ability to corroborate alibis the many times Tony had impersonated FBI, Homeland Security, or a park ranger had been beyond useful.

Yet, even though Tony had known him for most of his life, Fury still felt like some kind of otherworldly being. Not like the monsters and demons that Tony hunted, but more like, something out of a James Bond movie.

But knowing that Fury had a house in the backwater of Illinois was one thing. Seeing it was _entirely_ another.

For starters, the house was far more modest than Tony might have imagined, had he ever stopped to do such a thing. It was only single storey, with only the basic number of rooms a man living alone would need, each one sparsely decorated. It was – dare he say it – horrifically _normal._

“You came here because you want answers,” Fury said– not in question, but in statement of a fact that Tony wasn’t about to refute. “So give me some more details, whatever you have. I won’t know where to start if you don’t tell me how it began.”

“I don’t _have_ anything,” Tony admitted—and when Fury looked disbelieving, he growled. “I don’t. One minute I was being torn apart by a hellhound, the next I was waking up in a box. I don’t even remember what happened in between. How am I supposed to know what pulled me out?”

“Then you’ve got no idea at all?” Fury asked, frustration clear in his tone. “How is this possible?”

“Well, there is the fact that my grave looked something like a bomb site,” Tony said. “You’d think the place had been nuked. And then… well, there’s also this.”

Fury frowned as Tony lifted the sleeve of his shirt—the left side, rather than the side that Fury had already mangled. But the frown quickly morphed to concern as more of Tony’s skin became visible… along with the mark which had been seared into his skin like a brand.

Tony had first noticed it in the reflection of a car window during his trip from his gravesite. The scar, raised and huge, shone a bright, angry red against his skin. It looked nasty but cleanly healed—and it was the exact size and shape of a human hand.

Or, well. The imprint of something that appeared to _be_ human, anyway. For there was no way that a _human_ could have left such a mark, as horrific as it was. Besides, despite its appearance, the thing didn’t hurt—it just stuck out like a sore thumb against the surface of the rest of his now weirdly baby-smooth skin. And, sometimes, when the scar caught the light just so… Tony swore it shimmered green.

Fury moved closer immediately, his brow furrowed. “Ouch,” he grimaced. “Whatever left that was not messing around. I’ve never seen anything like it—and that’s not something you’d often hear me say.”

“No,” Tony agreed. “It certainly eliminated any thoughts I had of my waking up being the result of any of the others making a deal. I’ve never seen a demon do something like this, either.”

“I think you’re right. This is no demon.” Fury didn’t comment on the likelihood that any of the Avengers might have even thought to do such a thing. Tony was grateful for it, as even just the reminder stung a little. Not that he minded—he’d taken the deal to save Rhodey’s life after a bad fall from far too high. He wouldn’t have wanted anyone else to take his place.

But that still begged the question—

“Then what the _fuck_ can this be?” Tony groaned. “If it’s not a demon—we don’t even know anything else that _can_ get through the gates of hell.”

“A demon wouldn’t have wanted to break you out of hell anyway,” Fury added. “They went to a lot of effort to get you _in_ there.”

“What?” Tony frowned. “What do you mean? I made a _deal._ Plenty of people make deals, not just me. Not even just hunters.”

“We did some digging, after you died.” There was no need to ask who ‘ _we’_ was. Fury often seemed to consider SHIELD a branch of his own thought process. The way he was speaking, though, the slight slowness of his words as if he were choosing each one with care… _that_ was new, and that had Tony listening intently.

“We don’t think that Rhodes’ accident… was actually an accident.”

Tony froze, the taste of something poisonous blooming on the tip of his tongue, the dirt, holy water, and _hatred_ pooling together to form a bitter need for revenge on whoever, _whatever_ this bastard was.

“Fury,” Tony spat. “We have to find this asshole.”

“Yes,” Fury agreed. “I know. And I think I’ve got an idea of where we can start.” 

—✩—

Fury, apparently, had been majoring in visual arts and interior decorating while Tony had been dead.

At first, Tony had been a little suspicious when the older hunter had begun leading him down into the basement, having spent far too many hours watching late night horror movies for any other reaction. He’d tried to play it cool, though, despite his unease, and had pulled a face as they reached a thick door lined with far too many locks.

_Please tell me you aren’t taking me to your sex dungeon._

_Don’t make me sick._

But as the door swung open, Tony’s eyes widened.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, his gaze blurring as he tried to follow the patterns of all the symbols that were painted across the walls, skipping and skating over the crossed lines and swirling shapes. “Is this a panic room?”

“You were closer when you said _dungeon.”_

So. As it turned out, Fury’s house _wasn’t_ so normal, after all.

“I would have thrown you in here if you hadn’t proven to be yourself as quickly as you did,” Fury commented easily as he showed Tony the chair – complete with silver manacles and chains – which sat in the centre of the room. “Wouldn’t be the first.”

“Impressive,” Tony said. “No, really. I didn’t know you had such skill with a paint can.”

“I have many skills you don’t know about,” Fury said. “Now. We don’t have the first clue in hell about what this thing is, so we need to be ready for anything. It might be a good idea to call in the other Avengers—”

“Nah,” Tony said. “You’re all the back-up I need. I don’t want to freak anyone else out, especially not until we know whether or not I’m back for good.”

Fury looked thoughtful. “You think this is temporary?”

“I think this comes with a price tag I might not be willing to pay,” Tony corrected. “Nothing in this life comes for free. You should know that better than anyone.”

Fury didn’t comment on it, but Tony got the impression that he agreed.

After that, neither of them wasted any time in getting to work. Fury’s panic room had sigils from almost every religion on the planet painted across the walls and ceilings, with the pièce de résistance the huge devil’s trap in the centre. They didn’t know what the thing was, but it seemed impossible that there wasn’t _something_ there which would keep it restrained. Just to be safe, they also stocked the room with every form of weapon they could think of– salt pellets, silver bullets, the engraved knife Natasha had once stolen from a demon which could be used to permanently kill the legions of hell. Whatever came for them, they would be prepared.

Their lack of knowledge was still a problem, however. As they didn’t know what they were dealing with, they couldn’t use any of the usual methods of summoning it. There was _one_ sure-fire way of getting the thing in the room, but… it wasn’t going to be pleasant.

Tony grit his teeth. They didn’t have a _choice._

For the ritual, they would need to burn part of the creature they wanted to summon. For a demon or a spirit, the creature’s rotting bones would be enough. A lock of hair, a fingernail… even a small cluster of skin cells. And while they did not have access to anything that this creature had once been or owned… they _did_ have something it had touched.

Tony, to the dismay of everyone’s sense of smell, had not yet showered since he had been torn from his not-so-peaceful rest. While it did mean that there was something of a pungent stench drifting through the room, it _also_ meant that they would be able to use the creature’s handprint.

The handprint… which had been burned into Tony’s skin.

The knife Fury slid into his flesh was one of the most painful things Tony had ever experienced, the glide of the blade under his skin beyond excruciating. It could have been worse; Fury did just take a sliver, the area that had been covered by one of the fingers, but it was still utter torture. Perhaps it was that Fury was doing it so slowly—perhaps it was that Tony couldn’t fight back, that there was no adrenaline, that he had to hold _still._ But regardless of the reason, Tony _screamed_ past the wad of fabric Fury had given him to bite, and swore up a storm the moment the small flap of skin was flipped into a bowl.

“This had better work,” Tony hissed through aching teeth, trying to keep his hands from twitching as Fury stuck a large dressing over his _second_ bloody shoulder of the day. “I’m not doing that again.”

Fury wasn’t actually rolling his eye, but the action was somewhat implied in his tone. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Stark. I’ve used this ritual before. It’ll work.”

—✩—

It didn’t work.

It had been ten minutes of waiting, ten minutes of _agonising_ anticipation, and it was trying Tony’s last nerve.

He’d tried to be patient, he really had—but patience really wasn’t one of his best qualities. And after long moments of tapping his feet and fiddling with the loaded gun he held in his hands, he felt like he was about to—

“Are you sure you did the ritual right?” he asked.

The look in Fury’s eye was pure murder.

“ _Sorry._ But to be fair, Latin is a rather tricky language. One syllable out of place and the whole thing is _kaput.”_

“Or maybe,” Fury said, “I should have taken the whole handprint, rather than just a finger. If you want to try again, that is. Hold still.”

“Nah, I trust you,” Tony said, flashing a grin even as he held his hands up in surrender. “I’m entirely certain you did everything entirely correctly.”

Fury arched his brow, unimpressed. “Sure you are.”

Tony frowned, a retort on the tip of his tongue—but before he could give it voice—

It was like there was a static buzz in the air, a growing, high pitched whine that burned through his ears. The hair on the back of his neck began to stand on end as the chair in the centre of the room, despite being bolted down, began to rattle against the floor—and the chains jerked so violently they clattered to the ground.

There was something building in the middle of the room, the noise growing louder, the electric crackle growing stronger until Tony almost thought he could _see_ sparks spitting from nowhere—

“Okay, there’s no way that’s just a draft,” Tony said, raising his voice over the growing screech, his fingers tightening around his gun. “Get—”

His words were cut off by some kind of sonic _boom,_ blue light exploding out from the centre of the room. Tony was knocked off his feet, and sudden movement to his right proved Fury suffered the same—

His head cracked against the concrete floor, and for a moment Tony thought he was literally seeing stars. But as he blinked, he realised that there was some kind of green light, green _power_ which had emanated out from the centre of the room and which was now rising up the walls like some kind of mystical, menacing smoke.

Despite the ache in his head and the lancing pain in _both_ shoulders, Tony forced himself to his feet and raised his gun, taking aim.

The chair in the centre of the room had been blasted to pieces, fragments of metal scattered in a circular pattern which was all too familiar. And in the centre of the debris kneeled a figure which sent a stab of fear though the deepest recess of Tony’s being. Despite the creature’s human shape, something buried deep in Tony’s instincts _screamed_ at him that it was something _else._

Fury fired first, the crack of his gun startling Tony from his stupor. It was enough to force him into action, and Tony raised his own—pulling the trigger again, and again, his teeth gritting hard as he hoped—

But his silver bullets had no more effect than Fury’s salt-pellets. They did not even hit the creature as he straightened and stepped toward them with a sinister smile—they bounced off about a foot from his body, as if he had some kind of forcefield.

Throwing the gun away, Tony reached for the demon-killing knife, the knife which had yet to fail him against _any_ kind of creature.

Tony caught Fury’s eye, and the other man nodded—waiting as Tony allowed the creature to approach.

“Who are you?” Tony asked, trying to draw attention from the weapon in his hand—but not able to keep the anger from his tone.

The creature’s smirk deepened, monstrously green eyes flashing in a manner that had Tony’s instincts _screaming._

“I am your salvation.”

“Right, yeah, thanks for that,” Tony hissed—and then he lunged, knife in hand, preparing to slam it between the creature’s ribs and into his heart—

But a pale hand snapped up with a speed Tony could not have matched, fingers twisting through the air and catching Tony’s knife in a web of green light. It was unlike anything Tony had ever seen before, but it _had_ to be magic. He felt frozen, like he couldn’t move, like this _monster_ was holding him in some kind of web.

“Oh, shit,” said Fury—then he lifting his gun once again—

The creature spun, a hand raised—and in a single blink of an eye, pressed two fingers to Fury’s temple.

And the head of SHIELD dropped like a rock.

Tony snarled and tried to fight, but the power still held him in place—right up until the creature plucked the knife from between his frozen fingers. _Then_ he was allowed to stumble backwards, his heart racing with the fear of losing control.

“You’re going to regret that,” Tony snapped—though whether he meant the magic or the attack on Fury, Tony didn’t know.

“I do not believe so,” the creature replied. “Your friend is fine. And we need to talk.”

“Damn right we do.” Tony reached behind him, scrambling for another gun—

But the creature was faster. His eyes glowed that disturbing green as he moved his fingers with a shimmer of power—and then every weapon Tony and Fury had gathered in the panic room just… _vanished._

Shit.

“Right,” Tony said, sure as _fuck_ not letting any of his discomfort show on his face. “That’s fine. I never liked guns much, anyway.” He let his eyes roam over the creature, taking in the long leather coat, the gold adornments that almost made it seem like armour, the dark hair and the bright, green eyes. “Besides, _you_ still haven’t told me what you are. Other than a complete and total _asshole_ , obviously.”

The creature arched a brow. “I admit, this is not the greeting I had envisioned,” he said, tilting his head.

“Then enlighten me,” Tony drawled. “What were you expecting?”

“Perhaps a thank you,” came the reply, spoken with a sardonic edge. “Although, I do understand that you mortals can be rather crass.”

It was the way that the word rolled from the creature’s tongue. _Mortals._ It wasn’t said like it was an insult, nor derogatory, nor even a weightless comment. No, the word came like a fact, like a statement, as if the creature saying it simply… _wasn’t._

Not even demons spoke in such a way.

“I’m _crass_ to anyone who doesn’t answer my questions, Odysseus. Come on, what are you? I know you’re not a demon. And if you say _angel,_ I’m going to kick your ass.”

The man smirked, but otherwise didn’t answer.

“ _Asshole,”_ Tony said again. “You’re the one who wanted to talk.”

“And you are the one who summoned me,” the creature replied. “Or rather, you tried to. It was a rather endearing attempt, but I cannot be called in such a way. As you stated yourself, I am no demon—and nor am I of this world.”

“But you _are_ the one who pulled me out, demon or not,” Tony snapped. “And considering how I got in there, I don’t like the picture it paints. Fury thinks I was sent to hell on purpose.”

The creature did not answer, and Tony felt an explosion of anger, his jaw clenching so hard it might have made his teeth crack.

“You need to explain, right now,” Tony growled. “You put my best friend in the line of fire. So choose your words with care, because _that_ is not something I take lightly.”

The creature pressed his lips into a thin line, as if he were weighing up his options.

“You are mistaken,” he eventually said. “Colonel Rhodes’ malfunctioning parachute was not sabotaged, at least, not by me. However, you may have been manoeuvred to… _consider_ making a deal as an option.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Let’s just say that Barton’s words are not as difficult to manipulate as he would like to think.”

Well, _that_ was certainly something to chase up later—but for now, Tony shifted it to the back burner.

“Okay, so Rhodey’s fall wasn’t your fault,” Tony said, some of the fuel to his fire petering out. “But you still pulled me out of hell. Don’t deny it.”

“You are surely not mad about _that,”_ the creature replied, disbelieving. “I _saved_ you.”

“Perhaps, but you still haven’t even given me your name,” Tony replied quickly. “How am I supposed to trust anything you say when you won’t even do that?”

“Names have power.”

“And you already know mine. You want an inch? Even the playing field.”

The creature’s smile was slow, like a predator which knew it had trapped its prey. It sent a shiver up Tony’s spine—yet somehow, the sensation was entirely different from what he had felt when the creature had first arrived.

And when he spoke, the words felt like they held some kind of ancient promise.

“I am Loki, of Asgard.”

“Yeah, right,” Tony snorted. “Asgard. There’s no such thing.”

Loki arched a brow. “Is there not?”

The way he said it itched at Tony’s skin in a familiar kind of way. That tone—it wasn’t annoyance, or anger, or frustration. It was a _challenge_.

And Tony rose to it with a twist of his lips and a spin of his words.

“Why don’t you prove it?”

Loki took a step closer. This time, Tony didn’t step back.

“And how would you like me to do that?” Loki asked. “A show of power? A demonstration of skill?”

“How about an answer?” Tony tilted up his chin, the close proximity requiring he do so to meet Loki’s eyes. “You told me you’re the one who pulled me out of hell. But you haven’t told me _why.”_

“Did I need a reason?” Loki asked, shifting his feet forward to bring him closer still. “Perhaps I was merely bored.”

“Snatching someone from another world and rebuilding a body that’s been in the ground for _four months_ isn’t something someone does for fun,” Tony challenged. “You’re powerful, sure, but then you could have dug up someone far less… _shredded._ Tell me, Loki. I’m _curious.”_

Loki’s smile widened slightly, his teeth flashing in the dim light. “I saved you because I chose to,” he said, leaning close enough that Tony could feel his breath. “I pulled you from Niflheim myself, from the clutches of the Draugr who clung to you, and I healed the wounds that their claws tore through your soul. _I_ put your body back together, and it is my seiðr which now runs through every stitch of your flesh. It was I who saved you, Anthony Stark, for no reason other than the fact that I _wanted_ to.”

“Then why did you want to?” Tony asked, his voice a little lower than he’d meant it to be, his gaze fluttering down to Loki’s lips for half a moment. “What am I to a god?”

Loki’s eyes gleamed—not with magic this time, but with something else entirely. “Perhaps,” he whispered, “I will give you the chance to find out.”

The air was thick as Tony’s eyes flicked down once more, tracing the line of Loki’s growing smirk. There was heat growing both in the space between them and across Tony’s skin, and his breathing quickened, his heart raced. He could feel every brush of air, could see every detail in Loki’s green eyes, in his thin lips—

And as he pressed up on his toes to bring their lips together, the sound that escaped his mouth was topped only by the one Loki made as Tony tugged at his hair.

Somewhere, deep in the back of his mind, Tony was aware that he was possibly – probably – making a mistake. Without even touching the obvious issue of _Loki,_ there was the fact that Fury was still out cold, and that they were still in the panic room. Kissing the guy who had so far caused him nothing but frustration and anger was a terrible, horrible, _bad_ idea.

But, somehow, that feeling of _wrongness_ had all but melted away. Over the course of his conversation with Loki, their exchange of words had calmed his instincts to run and his inbuilt habit of mistrust. Those usual anxieties were now replaced by a different kind of tension entirely—a tension which felt fit to burst, release only reachable by pressing Loki _closer._

Oh, Tony couldn’t claim to be was entirely _comfortable,_ but… he’d be lying if he said that wasn’t part of the thrill.

He still didn’t know exactly what he managed to get himself into. He still didn’t even really know what exactly Loki _was._ But as he pulled Loki closer and moaned into the other man’s mouth, he did know absolutely one thing—

He sure as hell would enjoy finding out.


End file.
